


The Woes of a Pig

by lotustier



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotustier/pseuds/lotustier
Summary: Technoblade copes with the loss of his brother.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74





	The Woes of a Pig

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. It's currently 6am, I woke up 2 hours ago and decided 'hey, now's a great time to write an angsty Technoblade fic!' and thus, this was born [ Warning for Dream SMP spoilers! ]. With that being said, i tried to make this as immersive as i could, but I'm very tired so who's to say how well i did. I'll probably edit it later, but for now, enjoy!
> 
> Also possible TW! mentions of a kn*fe but no one gets hurt, it's just there at the end. However if that bothers you then please don't read, stay safe! <3

Technoblade wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, but he no longer registered feeling in his toes and he had decided a while ago that that was fine. 

It was fine. It didn't matter. He wasn't entirely convinced much mattered at that point in time.

It was a strange feeling for him. It was something overwhelming, yet it settled over him like a blanket of fog, almost inviting him to snuggle deep into the bitter warmth of the covers.

But physically he was freezing. His cloak torn from the battle at New L'manburg, snow seeping in and grasping at his forearms, desperately trying to stick to him. 

He felt himself shiver violently, but did nothing to keep it from happening again, too focused on staring into the white oblivion of the barren Arctic before him. 

It was surreal, in a way. And although he knew his home was nearby, he could not see a single sign of life surrounding him. Not that many living beings would come out in a blizzard like this. Techno always did have a way of testing the reigns of immortality. 

But his god complex wasn't the reason he had been trudging through thick mounds of snow, one after the other. It wasn't the reason his ears had begun to turn a different color with the help of no cloth to keep them warm.

Or, in a way, he supposed maybe it was.

He reiterates the strangeness of this emotion once again, ponders on if he's ever felt anything like it before. 

He can't say he has. This was something different. Not just a blanket- it was weighted. He figured it weighed as much as the sky itself, as if Atlas had passed down his duty onto Techno, giving him boulder after boulder until his protests became obsolete. 

It snuffed out a third of his thoughts, just as his boots had been sucked in by the blinding white of snow.

No, this feeling was different. 

But what was it?

His toe hit something solid, mind snapping back to reality for a fleeting moment as his glossy eyes glazed over the front porch of his log cabin. The rational part of his mind returned for a second, begging him to go inside, practically screaming at the improbable rates of which it were likely for him to survive outside much longer. 

Then the blanket settled over his shoulders again, much heavier than his winter cloak just inside the door had ever been, and the rational thoughts slipped away under the folds of fabric.

_"Hey, Tech!"_

In a flash, Techno scrambled backwards, eyes widening painfully while he tripped over his own feet and landed backwards in the snow with a heavy oomph. 

He blinked slowly, but to him it was rapid fast. He didn't want to hear that voice. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't-

_"Huh? Hey-woah, what happened?"_

_Technoblade merely frowned in response, lazy eyes drowning in sleep as his gaze flicked over to another figure standing at the kitchen island. He yawned at the amused expression the other wore, choosing to ignore it and make his way over to the eggs and potatoes that had been left out for him that morning, his hooves clicking softly on the ground as he walked._

_Light filtered in from the window above the sink, soft rays brightening up the marble counters and hand-made curtains fluttered gently against the wind from the open panel._

_It was early, yet Phil had still made them all breakfast before going to town, and Techno could hear birds chirping at the sun outside, as if they were asking it a question._

_"Mm? What?" He responded, grabbing himself a fork._

_"You're hair, dude!" Wide brown eyes and an upturned brow were hidden beneath chestnut curls as Techno blinked at the remark. "Not to be rude, but ya kinda look like shit."_

_Techno huffed at that, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face and grumbling in annoyance when it fell straight back into his mouth._

_"Yeah, well. Not sure what to do with all of it." He tucked the strand behind his ear, shrugging nonchalantly. Though it could be argued most things he did were done in that manner._

_"Why not cut it off?"_

_He glared at Wilbur, eyes narrowed dangerously at the horrid suggestion, but his brother only laughed at that. He grumbled to himself again, pouting as he stabbed a hash brown with his fork and shoved it into his mouth._

_"Tha's a 'orrible idea," he said, chewing at the same time if only to annoy the man across from him._

_Will rolled his eyes at the escapade. Sometimes, Techno acted like such a child despite being the eldest._

_"I was joking, Tech."_

_"Mm."_

_A brief moment of silence passed between the two, Techno happily munching on his breakfast and Wilbur seemingly deep in thought. (Not exactly a good thing, Techno reminded himself. Sometimes, Wilbur's ideas were worse than Tommy's.)_

_"Hey, do you want me to braid your hair for you?"_

_It was a genuine question, and Techno raised an eyebrow, about to ask if his brother was pulling his leg- but then he thought about it. It would definitely be nice to get his hair out of the way, especially since it had only been getting longer and his only solution has been to shove it into a haphazard bun with some string they'd had lying around the house. Not exactly the best method, one could say._

_So, instead, he shrugged, muttered a 'after my potatoes,' and then later found himself listening to Wilbur humming a new tune of his from behind while Techno sat patiently on the floor of their living room._

_"Wil."_

_"Hm?"_

_"Where did you learn to braid hair?"_

_Wilbur's fingers stalled in their work for a moment, and he heard a nervous chuckle escape the others mouth._

_"Oh-uh-uhm…" Technoblade raised an eyebrow at the prolonged response. He didn't think it to be an entirely difficult question, but it had struck him somewhat odd that his brother knew how to braid hair when there had been no previous braiding from him- none that Techno has seen, anyway._

_"I, uh... I met a girl. At school." Wilbur's hands went back to braiding, but Techno only blinked. "Her name's Niki. She's got super long hair, and...well, I don't really know how, but she ended up teaching me how to braid it."_

_"Hmm. A girl, huh?"_

_"Wha-okay, there's nothing going on between us!"_

_"Mhm."_

_"Stop it, Techno."_

_He shrugged._

_Wilbur tied off his braid before throwing his hands back. "I hate when you give non-committal answers like that-she's just a friend!"_

_"Okay, Wil." Techno stood up from the floor, ignoring the foot that had fallen asleep, and touched the braid from behind, admiring how much lighter it felt now. There were no more strands in his face to get caught in his mouth. He smiled._

_"Whatever you say."_

Technoblade thinks he's going to be sick.

Or perhaps he already has been. He's changed positions now, knees shoved against the ground beneath thickets of snow as his back tried to curl in ways no person could comfortably curl, arms wrapped around his middle. 

The fog over his thoughts just barely covers up the sound of his erratic breathing, huffs of smoke trailing up from his chattering lips with each exhale. He still couldn't feel his toes.

He came to the sudden realization that there were no birds chirping questions at the sun. There was no humming of soft tunes and a familiar hand tying his hair back for him. 

There was nothing. There was no one, and it was silent beyond the rush of a blizzard's winds.

Said wind pushed up against him violently, nearly knocking him over but instead, he felt something thwack against his cheek. Felt it toss against his chest, around his shoulder. Saw the tell-tale red of the ribbon he'd been using as a hair tie since that morning in the living room with his brother all those years ago. 

He felt something boil up inside him. Felt the blanket of whatever emotion that had been churning in his gut raise bile to his throat, felt the anger of it bubble to the surface and threaten to release havoc unto anything before it. Unto anything before him. 

This wasn't the normal rage that filled him. Wasn't the normal threatening of bloodlust that would consume him from time to time were he not careful enough. Not the one where Phil or Tommy or Wilbur could come bring him down from.

No, this was different.

He thinks maybe he's figured out the feeling.

His joints scream as he unwinds his arms from around himself, fingers crying the tears his eyes cannot shed as he forces them to rummage through the bag against his hip.

He's looking for something. It has to be there. It has to be. He didn't take it out once-not in L'manburg, not during his trek across the Arctic. It has to be there, it must be, he thinks it must be, because if it isn't he might just lose his mind. Another part of him thinks maybe he's lost it already, but he can't dwell on that, he's got something to find.

When his fingers grasp the hilt of a small blade he hears himself breathe a sigh of relief, desperation disguised as adrenaline coursing through his veins as he grasps it as tightly as his searing knuckles can, and pulls it from the satchel. 

The dagger glints in the bright white of snow, almost blends in with the blizzard around him but Technoblade doesn't let go of it. 

He grasps the tight braid tumbling against his side with one hand, gripping it tightly enough to give himself a headache but the feeling comes back stronger as he catches sight of the pink hair twisted up with a bit more prestige than the first ever one had been.

He feels it rise up within him again as he remembers asking Wilbur to put it up for him that morning. 

He grips the braid in one hand, dagger in the other, and the next thing he registers is a hand against his shoulder, a body leaning in front of him.

"Techno, Techno." He thinks he hears Phil whisper. "Techno. Let go of the dagger, son."

He feels familiar fingers pry open his hand, cold handle slipping from his grasp. 

The sliced braid stays in his left palm, knuckles shut so tight the pink of his skin turns white, but the color of his hair is stark against the snow.

He thinks he hears Phil again, blinks slower than molasses until he sees green directly in front of him. 

He reaches out, and his father is there, arms secure around his freezing body as they sit mere inches from the inside of his home, the blizzard around them raging on.

**Author's Note:**

> :')


End file.
